'Why didn't you say so afore?' Gartin demanded wrathfully, opening a tool-box. 'Think I'm 'ere to 'ave my time wasted like this? You're quite certain it was th' fu'st lootenant sent you?' He thought he had seen a twinkle in Pincher's eye.
'Well, 'e said 'e wanted the job done this mornin', any'ow,' the ordinary seaman prevaricated.
The chief stoker produced the hammer and the chisel, and handed them across as if he were making a gift of the Crown Jewels. ''Ere you are. Look out you returns 'em. If you don't'—— He glared fiercely and shook his head.
'If I doesn't?'
'If you don't I'll take you afore the engineer horficer an' the captin, an' 'ave the price of 'em stopped outa your pay. I'm fed up wi' chasin' people round the ship. They comes to me borrowin' things right an' left, never says so much as "Thank you," an' never troubles to return the gear wot they borrowed. I ain't 'ere to get runnin' round arter seamen wot isn't no better'n a pack o' thieves!'
'I'll look out I returns 'em orl right,' said Pincher, retreating up the ladder with a broad grin all over his face.
'I'll look out you pays for 'em if you don't!' was the chief stoker's final remark.
Pincher retired chuckling, with the tools in his possession. He did not feel the least bit uneasy. Gartin's bark was always worse than his bite, and nobody ever took him really seriously.
Hills, the petty officer telegraphist, was a burly, powerful-looking man of average height. His eyebrows, like Gartin's, were long and bushy, the hair on his head was thick and luxuriant, while his chin, though he shaved every morning regularly, was always bristly and blue by the evening. At sea he spent most of his time in the wireless office abaft the charthouse. It was a tiny apartment, about eight feet by five, and every conceivable nook and cranny, and almost every square inch of the walls and ceiling, was occupied by instruments. Where there was room on the walls Hills had decorated his little den with photographs of his wife, children, relations, and friends, and sundry flamboyant and highly coloured picture post-cards. There was just room for a mahogany slab which served as a table, and a chair bolted to the deck, in which, with a pair of telephone-receivers clipped over his ears, Hills sat enthroned like some mysterious wizard in his cave. The wireless office was soundproof and practically airtight. Its occupant detested draughts, and at sea in winter, when the two small side windows were kept tightly shut, the atmosphere could almost be cut with a knife. In the early mornings, when Hills had had an all-night sitting, and felt peevish and looked dishevelled, his shipmates always said his hairy face assumed a simian aspect, and that he himself reminded them of a gorilla in his cage. It was a libel, but this did not prevent certain irreverent persons from forgathering outside his den at cockcrow, opening the door gently, and then, scratching themselves after the manner of apes, inquiring tenderly as to his health.
''Ullo, "Birdie," 'ow goes the zoo? Wot time does th' hanimals feed this mornin'?'